Love in the Library
by Lurisa
Summary: She was wrong–oh,so very,very off limits.She was filthy,disgusting,a lowlyborn commoner who had no place traipsing the same halls as me.And yet I couldn't tear my eyes from her smile.


**Love in the Library**

I looked at her laughing with her friends, the afternoon sun bathing her in its golden light. In that moment, at that exact point in time, she was the most beautiful I had ever seen her and I knew that tomorrow she would be even more stunning. She was this radiant creature that belonged in legends and myths. She was too beautiful to be anything but a deity.

And I wanted her. There was this, this thing in my chest that clawed its way to the surface every time I saw her warm smile, every time her soft, sweet laughter reached my ears. It exploded into a raging fire anytime she so much as glanced my direction with those soulful brown eyes.

But she was wrong–oh, so very, very off limits. She was everything I was against, everything I should never want. She was filthy, disgusting, a lowly-born commoner who had no place traipsing the same halls as me. She sullied this building with her very presence and I hated her for it.

And, yet, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. I should turn away and get back to my work. I should focus on how to cage the beast roaring to life inside of me instead of letting it roam free. I should be repressing it instead of allowing it to feed on and gain strength from these glimpses of her.

Her eyes flicked to mine and a smile inched its way onto her lips; she knew I was watching her.

This knowledge is what finally forced me to look away but it couldn't completely kill the monster fighting against and threatening to break through my rib cage. It only drove it back enough to allow me to turn my gaze elsewhere. It was not enough to allow me to focus on my work.

I slammed the book on the table before me closed, the slap of the pages coming together echoing around the cavernous library and drawing the anxious eyes of the watchful librarian; she glared reproachfully at me as though suspecting me of abusing her precious books.

Gathering my rolls of parchment and textbooks into a hurried pile and stuffing them hastily into my school bag, I made my way past the empty tables and towering bookshelves to the door; her soulful eyes followed me out of the library.

She was there again, this time her pretty little nose buried in a tome that took up an entire study table when opened. Her eyes were following her finger as she trailed it over line after line of tiny text. Every once in a while, her face would get this excited look and she'd scribble something down on a sheet of parchment lying beside her.

I'm not sure how long I stood there in the empty aisle just watching her hands fly across the yellowed pages of the book. That zealous look fascinated me, made me want to know what it was that brought it on. I wanted to walk over and stand behind her. I wanted to look over her shoulder and read from the book and skim over her notes.

A page was turned, the rustling of the aging paper breaking the odd sort of peace that had fallen.

Without knowing it, I took a step forward, seemingly set on fulfilling my desire to read over her shoulder. The movement caught her attention and she looked up quickly, her mouth forming a surprised "o" as a small exhalation of air escaped her lips.

The spell was broken, leaving only an awkward moment of us just looking at each other, not saying a word.

I retreated, turned, and walked deeper into the library, hoping to find some sort of distraction among the many books.

The next time I saw her, she was tucked into a window seat with her arms wrapped around her middle. A copy of _The Daily Prophet_ rested forgotten on her pulled up knees as she stared out the window at the bleak sky. Snow flakes were starting to gather in the corners of the window; she shivered.

She seemed…off. Something about her just wasn't the same; I couldn't put my finger on it. Her eyes weren't quite as bright today. The corners of her mouth were turned down into a frown that shouldn't have been there. The curls of her dark hair just hung there, lifeless.

She looked sad.

And I was concerned, something completely out of character for me. I was having a compassionate feeling for someone I shouldn't. Not only that but I wanted to know what or who had made her feel this way. I wanted to pound them into the ground with such terrific need that it took my breath away.

As I watched trying to rein in my anger, her eyes closed and her forehead fell against the glass.

I looked on in stunned silence. Had she fallen asleep? Or was something dreadfully wrong?

Without really thinking about whether I should or not, I walked up to stand beside her. Her scent wafted up, taking me by surprise and causing me to inhale sharply. I inhaled again, gathering in as much of her as I possibly could with one breath. The way she smelled—like spring rain and flowers—was intoxicating. I could've stood there all day and not given it a second thought.

But she was supposed to be revolting. She wasn't supposed to smell so clean. Father had told me that people like her were repugnant, had a stench that wouldn't come out of the clothes for days if they so much as brushed up against you. So, if I thought that I wouldn't mind her scent to follow me for days, was I wrong? Was there something the matter with me?

There must be because this, what I was thinking, wasn't how I had been raised. This went against everything I had been taught was right, everything I _knew_ was right.

_I will quit her like a drug_, I supposed, turning quickly on my heel and getting as far away from her as I could. _Just cut myself off. It's the only way._

Nearly a week had passed before I wandered back into the library, accepting the fact that I couldn't simply avoid her. She was everywhere I looked. I couldn't get her face out of my head. Her scent lingered, followed me, drifted up and enveloped me. I was going crazy.

I needed to see her. Just to catch a glimpse. Then I'd go straight back to avoiding her. I just needed to keep from losing my mind completely.

There she was, sitting quietly at a table with open textbooks spread in a semicircle around her. Her quill scratched softly against the paper as she wrote on the parchment. She paused to look up a fact in one of the books, the feathered tip of her quill drifting idly against her chin. A crease appeared between her eyebrows and she chewed on the corner of her lower lip.

It was positively torturous, standing there and watching her. Couldn't she chew on her lip in a way that wasn't—heaven help me—adorable? Couldn't her crinkled brow have made her less appealing? Why couldn't she just leave me alone?

I forced myself to walk by her and head toward the very back of the library, thinking that maybe, there among the forgotten books, she wouldn't be so tempting. If I knew where she was, maybe I could more effectively block her out.

The only problem was that, because I walked by her, her haunting, spring-rain-and-flowers scent got caught up in my clothes and tagged along. It trailed after me, tugged at me, tried to get me to turn back to her.

But I still refused to face the fact that I needed her. I didn't want it to be true because, if it was, everything I thought I'd known and everything I'd thought was right would be turned on its head. I would have to sift through everything I'd been raised to believe and re-analyze it. I'd have to decide that no, she wasn't wrong and yes, my father was a misled old man living in a world that had no base in reality.

It took three tries to get finally to the back of the library; my feet kept walking me back in her direction. When I finally got there, I had to force myself to pull out a chair, sit down and stay seated. I spread my books out around me but I didn't open them. I pulled out a quill and a roll of parchment but I didn't write anything. It was all I could do to keep myself planted firmly in the chair and not go back the way I had come.

"Dirty, filthy, repugnant, lowly-born, commoner…"

Those were the words I murmured softly under my breath like a mantra. Those were the words I'd been taught applied to her kind. Those were the words that were meant to keep me firmly planted in the cushioned chair.

And they very nearly worked.

I was almost to the point that I could attempt to open my books and get some work done when a fresh wave of spring-rain-and-flowers washed over me.

Every muscle tightened; pictures I'd stored away in my mind flashed up like a slide show; my nostrils flared as I involuntarily drew in a great gulp of air saturate with her essence; my eyes slammed closed as if not being able to see would make a difference.

"Draco?"

Oh, sweet heaven! The sound of her voice! It was soft, like velvet, and felt as though a rose petal had brushed against my cheek, causing shivers to race across my skin. I'd never heard my name spoken by that voice. I'd never even allowed myself to dream about it.

I slowly opened my eyes.

There she was, peeking around the corner of the bookshelf that separated us. Her wild, untamed curls cascaded over her shoulder. She didn't have the good fortune to be backlit by the golden glow of the sun but it didn't matter; she still radiated in my dimly-lit alcove.

One corner of her mouth pulled up in an uncertain smile. "Madame Pince sent me to find you. She would like I word, I think. She was muttering something about book abuse when I left."

I nodded, wanting only for her to be gone. And yet–yet, I didn't want to ever have her out of my sight again. I didn't know what was happening. All I knew was that the monster was slowly tearing my beliefs to shreds with its razor sharp claws and gnashing teeth.

And, for the first time in a very long while, I was afraid. I was afraid of the way she looked at me with those deep eyes as though she could read my every thought. I was afraid of the way her voice was almost a tangible object that I could wrap my hands around. I was afraid of the way her image danced through my head.

But mostly, ultimately, I was afraid that I had lost myself to her.

As this thought flickered to life in my mind, I felt everything that I had known crumble into a pile of fine powder and swept away before I could gather it all back around me. There was this horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The loss of the familiar wall that had been built of what was now non-existent dust left me feeling lost and vulnerable. Where was I to turn now? What was I to believe in?

"Are you okay?"

Her soft voice washed over me, soothing the feverish thoughts running through my head.

She'd come around the corner now, standing beside me and leaning slightly over me with something akin to worry in her eyes. Her skin was pale from hours spent in the library under the glow of artificial lights instead of out in the natural sun but it suited her. It reminded me of the silk nightgown my mother wore; pale silk forever reminded me of Mother.

Suddenly, I wanted to touch her. I wanted to feel something familiar, something I'd know by touch that would remind me of who I was.

I leaned closer, brushing the backs of my fingers against her soft cheek. It didn't feel like silk; it wasn't cool enough. But I liked it much better than Mother's silk. The heat was more pleasant.

Her brown eyes widened in shock and her cheeks flushed, growing warm under my touch. Her lips were parted from her little gasp.

As I was reaching up with my other hand to bury it in her hair, she pulled back from me.

She regarded me in confusion, a furrow appearing between her brows. Her fingers were tightly clasped together but it didn't hide their trembling. And when she finally spoke, her voice shook. "The Madame Pince said it was urgent—should go, I think—sorry I interrupted you."

She took a slow step back, her teeth teasing the corner of her lip, but she didn't look away.

Then she was gone and I was left to wonder if I had imagined the whole thing as I gathered my books together. But her scent hung too heavily in the air. The texture and warmth of her skin was too real beneath my fingers. And the confusion in her eyes was too vivid. It was no fantasy.

The way she looked at me over the top of her book as though she was being sneaky almost made me smile. She hadn't turned a page in the last five minutes and the book happened to be upside down. One would have to have nothing but cotton for brains not to notice that.

Of course, it wasn't as though I had been very studious today either. But I had a different approach. I didn't hide my face behind a book. Instead, I reclined back in my chair and simply smirked at her; it had taken about a week to come to grips with the lack of my wall but I was regaining back some of my old confidence.

She huffed and closed the book defiantly. The scowl on her face was sent in my direction; I only chuckled under my breath. Jumping to her feet and abandoning her table, she disappeared into the labyrinth of bookcases.

After a few moments of preparing myself to finally say something to her, I left my own table and followed.

I found her in the biography section running her fingers along the bindings and leaving thin, curving trails in the dust. She reached the end of the shelf and moved into the aisle, vanishing from sight again. I, of course, followed closely.

"Why are you following me?" Her voice wasn't a petal today. It was harder.

She didn't turn to look at me, keeping her eyes on the window. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her back was ramrod straight, and her shoulders were stiff. I was making her nervous.

I came up to stand behind her, fighting the urge to rest my hands on her shoulders, to lean close and inhale the spring-rain-and-flowers smell coming off her hair.

"Because I think—"I swallowed—"I can't _not_ follow you," I replied softly. I knew she heard me because she inhaled sharply.

"Why," she whispered.

I thought about this one, taking a step closer. Why _did_ I follow her? Why was she such an enigma? Why, of all the girls available to me, did my heart choose the one I should never want?

"I'm not quite sure," I whispered, feeling my so recently regained confidence draining away in a way only she could accomplish. "But I know that I can't go a day without seeing you, that you grow more beautiful with each passing moment."

Slowly she turned around and faced me. Her eyes were warm and her skin was flushed. She was beautiful. "Do you truly believe that?"

Hesitantly, I reached out a shaking hand and rested the palm against her cheek, letting the warmth flood through me. All the while I was wondering, worrying, that she would dissipate beneath my fingers. I just stood there, rendered a complete dullard under the full weight of her eyes, and nodded. "Yes."

She smiled and placed her hand over mine on her cheek.

"Hermione?"

She jerked away and looked toward the direction of the voice calling her name.

"Hermione, where are you?" the voice called in a harsh whisper again.

"I'm coming, Harry," she called. My hand fell to my side as she disappeared into the labyrinth of bookshelves with an apologetic backwards glance over her shoulder.

I leaned against the edge of the table fidgeting with the parchment in my hands. It was a note from her, a simple slip of paper that had a line of her quick scrawl written hastily on its yellowed surface. I had folded and unfolded it so many times it was turning soft and the creases were fraying.

I unfolded it and reread what she had written. _Meet me at the back table of the library directly after dinner._

Refolding the note, I glanced quickly at the clock hanging on the wall. It was seven o'clock. Dinner should have ended about fifteen minutes ago. It takes about ten minutes to get from the great hall to the library—seven if one is in a hurry. She was late.

What if she'd changed her mind? What if she'd come to her senses and realized that I didn't deserve the chance she had decided to give me? What if she was back in her common room right now with her Gryffindor friends laughing at me?

I crumpled the note in my fist. I was not to be laughed at.

"Draco?"

She walked around the corner and, jumping to my feet, I forgot all about being laughed at.

"You're late," I murmured, not finding any real harshness to put behind it.

She looked down at her feet. "I—I got held up."

Silence filled the air between us, growing heavier the longer it was allowed to linger. Neither of us moved and, though I couldn't take my eyes off her, she didn't look back at me. She looked at the floor, out the window behind me, at the books on the shelf beside her but never once did her eyes rest on me.

"I got your note," I finally said, holding it up.

She looked up at me then, a small smile on her lips; the monster inside me lurched. "I see that. I can't imagine you'd be here if you hadn't."

"Oh…yes. Rather obvious, wasn't it?" I stuttered. Merlin, I was rendered nearly useless when she was around.

She nodded.

There was more silence.

"About yesterday," she started.

"I'm sorry," I blurted. "I shouldn't have been so…open."

Her eyes met mine. Was there a small amount of hurt in them, a bit of disappointment?

"Oh," she replied softly. "I see."

She started to worry her lip between her teeth.

I took a deep breath and walked up to her. "That's not to say it isn't true. I meant what I said, Her—Hermione."

She looked up at me and smiled. "You've never called me 'Hermione' before. I've always been 'Granger.'"

Slowly, hesitantly, I reached up and cupped her chin in my hands, brushing my thumbs over her cheeks. I watched in awe as her eyelids fluttered closed and she leaned into the touch.

"Hermione," I whispered. Her eyes fluttered open again and they swirled like melted chocolate. "I think I'm going to kiss you."

She hummed contentedly at the back of her throat, almost a purr, and closed her eyes again, wrapping her slender arms around my neck. "Then kiss me."

I lowered my lips to hers and there was an explosion inside of me. The monster in my chest—it broke out and was setting my entire being on fire. My blood was rushing, surging in my veins, drowning out the sound of anything else. My skin was hypersensitive, picking up on the way her fingers moved down my neck, across my shoulders, back up to bury themselves in my hair.

"Wow," she breathed, resting her forehead against mine. "Just…wow."

I smiled coyly. I did that to her. I made her hands shake. I made her breathing come in quick spurts. I made the blood rush to her cheeks and turn them rosy red. My touch did it to her. "I could say the same for you."

She blushed a deeper shade of red.

"What the _bloody hell_ is going on here?"

I spun around and came face to face with a flushed Ronald Weasley. His hands were fisted at his sides, the veins in his arms standing out with his effort to keep his fists where they were. There was a pulse in his brow and his eyes were very nearly black. He was well beyond angry; he was bloody well seeing red.

"Ron," Hermione started hastily, stepping around me. "I can explain."

He turned his hard gaze to her and she nearly wilted beneath it, shrinking back into my chest. I rested my hands on her shoulders, trying to lend her my strength to withstand his glare.

"Get your _filthy_ hands off her, Malfoy," he hissed at me through clenched teeth.

"Ron," she started again, standing a bit straighter, a bit stronger.

"NOW, Malfoy!" His wand was leveled with my chest, a point just over Hermione's shoulder.

"What are you going to do, Weasley?" I asked, moving Hermione out from in front of me. If something happened to her I'd—I didn't want to think about it. "_Arvada_ me? You don't have the balls."

"No," he said slowly. "What I'm going to do will be much more painful."

The curse was on me before I had a chance to react. It felt as though my blood had been replaced with shards of glass and my heart, not having gotten word of the switch, continued to pump it through my veins, slicing my insides to ribbons. Weasley had been right. This was much worse than the killing curse. This was absolute torture.

"Stop it, Ron!" Hermione screamed. "Just stop it!"

I felt the curse lifted and her soft hands were on the sides of my face; I was shaking. I tried to focus on something other than the pain, something warm like her touch.

"Draco?" She spoke softly. "Draco, open your eyes. Please look at me."

I forced my eyes open. I could not disobey that pleading voice, _her_ pleading voice. She wanted me to open my eyes so open my eyes I did. Even if I slammed them shut instantly against the faint light in the library, pain shooting through my head.

"Ron," she murmured. "Ron, what have you done?"

"What have _I_ done?" He sounded exasperated. If he hadn't just inflicted a small portion of hell on me, I might almost feel sorry for him. He had found the girl of his dreams in the arms of his enemy. "_You_ were the one _letting_ him _touch_ you. You should be disgusted. And you should be thanking me. But you're actually choosing him. He hates you, Hermione. He hates all of us. How can you not see that?"

I forced my eyes open again, ignoring the pain in my head in favor of seeing her reaction. It was a fair question. He had every right to ask her that. I had treated them all as though they were insignificant, nothing but insects to be crushed beneath the heel of my designer shoes.

She was looking down at me, her brown eyes filled with worry. "I don't know, Ron. I don't have a clue as to why I'm willing to give him a chance. I suppose it's because everyone deserves one."

"Not him." Weasley shook his head in exasperation. "I can't believe it. I _won't_ believe it. You're…you're consorting with the enemy!"

Hermione grab the sleeves of my robes and pulled them up to my elbows, revealing my pale forearms. There was nothing there. No damning Dark Mark at least.

"Do you see anything, Ronald? Is the Dark Mark there and I'm just not seeing it? It's time to grow up and put the past behind you. There's a bloody war going on and you're worried about some schoolboy rivalry. Death Eaters are your _real_ enemies. "

Weasley gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. It was actually a funny sight and I might have laughed if my entire body hadn't hurt every time I moved. Instead I closed my eyes again and let the darkness claim me, sinking into a numb oblivion.

There was something warm in my hand, something soft and smooth. I gave it a squeeze, attempting to learn more about it without actually opening my eyes; the light would hurt too much.

To my surprise, it squeezed back as a gentle voice murmured, "Draco?"

Despite what I knew about it causing nearly unbearable pain, my eyes snapped open and turned toward the voice.

She was there, sitting in a chair beside me, her hands holding tightly to mine. There were circles under her eyes and her hair, appearing to have been pulled back at one time, now resembled something akin to a bird's nest minus the sticks and leaves. Her robes were lying in a crumpled heap in her lap, having been used as a blanket, and her clothes were rumpled.

I thought she looked absolutely smashing.

"Where am I?" I asked, attempting to sit up, startled that I could bear having my eyes open at all. There was almost no light, the only source coming from the thin crack around the curtain.

"In the hospital wing," Hermione answered.

"And Weasley?" I looked at her, my eyes growing hard. She released my hand and sank into the back of her chair.

"He—he left," she stuttered. "Soon after you—after you blacked out. I brought you here."

Suddenly realizing that the hard look in my eyes was the reason she couldn't get her words out, I reached out for her hand. I missed the warmth and feel of it. I missed touching her.

Hesitantly, she wrapped her fingers around mine. Her teeth started to worry her bottom lip as she studied our entwined fingers. Slowly she stood up and sat on the edge of my bed, gingerly holding my hand in her lap and studying our hands. "I was so…so worried."

"For Weasley's sake?" I had to ask. I had to know if she was sitting here making sure I didn't die so Weasley wouldn't get in so much trouble. Or if there was some possibility that she had spent the night curled in an uncomfortable hospital chair just so she would be here when I opened my eyes.

Hermione's eyes jerked to mine and stayed there. She looked slightly hurt. "Do you honestly think—"

She broke off and looked back at our linked hands, running her fingers over my knuckles. "No, Draco. I'm here for you."

There was a rustling sound outside the door. Hermione quickly jumped off the bed and darted into a dark corner, throwing her robes over herself and disappearing behind the chair there. I very nearly jumped after her, not wanting to let go of her for a moment.

"Oh, good," came an overly cheery voice. "You're awake, Mister Malfoy. You gave us quite a scare there." Madame Pomfrey bustled into the room carrying a tray bearing breakfast foods. Setting it on the nightstand, she went about checking my charts and performing some examination spells that made my entire body tingle from head to toe. "Had poor Miss Granger all worked up into a tizzy, you did. Why on earth you two thought it necessary to practice that particular spell, I've no idea. I would've thought she'd have known better, her being as bright as she is. Oh well, I've given up trying to understand the students here. Just mend them and send them back out there only to have them visit again within the week. I honestly don't know why I do it. You be sure to eat that, you hear? When I come back I expect that tray to be relatively empty."

With that she left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Hermione?" I whispered harshly. I couldn't see her anymore and despite my best effort, I was beginning to panic. "Hermione, this is not funny. Where are you?"

I felt a weight settle beside me on the bed and something brush against my cheek. "I'm still here."

I hesitantly reached out a hand and felt around the air in front of me. Feeling a silky edge, I gave it a tug and then there she was. Well, there was her head anyway. Another couple of tugs and she was sitting before me, completely whole. "Where did you get an invisibility cloak?"

Hermione looked away and busied herself with helping me sit up and setting the tray on my lap. "I pinched it from Harry. I would've asked him but Ron had already told him about…well, about the library and Harry isn't too happy with me. I went after everyone was asleep and grabbed it from his trunk." She paused a moment before looking at her hands and adding. "I couldn't sleep without knowing you'd be okay."

I looked up from my inspection of something lumpy in the chipped bowl on the tray. "You were that worried?"

"It was my fault that this happened to you."

"Hermione, I chose to meet you there. It's as much my fault as anyone's."

"But I sent the note. I asked you to come." She stood up and began to pace around the room. "If something worse than this had happened—if Ron had been a few seconds earlier—if you had died—"

"But I didn't die and Weasley wasn't there a few seconds earlier." I watched her pace around the foot of my bed, her hair swinging over one shoulder with every change of direction. "What was that you said about putting the past behind us?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed with a frown, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. "I was trying to keep Ron from killing you."

"I'm trying to keep you from killing yourself by worrying yourself to death. I'm not seeing much of a difference between the situations."

"Draco, I'm being serious."

"Hermione, so am I. It's not everyday that someone single-handedly pulls down all my barriers and leaves me lost and confused." I took her hand as she tried to stand and start pacing again. "But you, you destroyed seventeen years of believing I was better, seventeen years of conditioning to hate you with naught but a smile. That's no small feat."

The corner of her mouth pulled up into a small smile. "I did that to you?"

I nodded, linking our fingers for fear that she might try to pull away again. With a small smile I added, "So, you see, I've an entirely selfish reason for keeping you sane and alive. I have reason to believe that you're the only one who can put me back together. I mean, you were the one who broke me. It only makes sense that you fix me."

She smiled and traced the back of my hand with her fingertips. "At least that side of you remains intact. Imagine if I had to start from scratch."

I shivered. "I'd have morals," I replied playfully. "And, heaven forbid, a conscience."

That got the reaction I was looking for. She laughed. Albeit softly, it was still a laugh in my presence, another first to add to the growing list.

"I should go to back to my dorm," she said a few moments later, after watching me finish off the food on the tray and listening to me question the edibility of it all. She stood and set the tray on the bedside table.

Reaching out, I gently wrapped my fingers around her wrist, latching on to her. I didn't want her to leave. What if I woke up to find all this was a dream? What if everything that felt so real now faded into oblivion tomorrow while I stared across the Great Hall at her as she remained oblivious to me? "Stay? Please?"

"Draco," she replied softly, unhooking my hand and holding it tightly. "I have to go. Harry will be missing his cloak and the girls will see that my bed hasn't been slept in. And, if I stay, Madame Pomfrey will have a fit when she finds me here in the morning."

"And I will be able to wake to your face and know that this hasn't been a dream."

Hermione scoffed. "More like a nightmare, you mean. You ended up in the hospital wing, Draco. That's hardly a happy ending."

"But you're here," I whispered, squeezing her hand and looking into her chocolate eyes. An errant curl fell across her face and I reached up to tuck it behind her ear.

But she was on her feet before I could touch it. "What's going on here, Draco? I mean, I never thought that this could ever happen. You and me: we're as opposite as can be."

It was then that I noticed the fear in her eyes. It had been hidden so well behind her wall of confidence that I hadn't seen it before. I should've known better.

"I just don't know…"

I sighed and smiled as gently as I could, looking her in the eye. "Hermione, I don't want to scare you away now that I've come this close. It's the last thing I want. So, if you feel that you need get away for a while, to think or whatever it is you want to do, I'll not try to stop you. I just want you to know that I'll be here, waiting, if you decide you'd like to give this a try."

She looked down at me, her brown eyes warm; tears began to gather in the corners. "Honest?"

I smirked, latching on to something familiar because the mush that had been spewing forth from my mouth certainly wasn't normal. "You have my word as a Malfoy. And, though it may surprise you, that used to have a lot more meaning than it does now."

Before I knew what was happening, she flung herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and practically squeezing the life out of me. "Oh, Draco. You don't know what that means to me."

I knew what it meant to me. I'd given my word as a Malfoy. I'd sworn that I'd wait forever for this girl. And I'd known as the words left my lips what that would mean. I would wait as long as it took, forever. No more flings. No more pretending to be interested in any other girl. She was the one, the only one. And the ferocity with which that thought had grabbed hold frightened and comforted me at the same time.

Wrapping my own arms around her, I kissed the top of her head, taking in long drags of her spring-rain-and-flowers scent, not knowing how long it would be before I would get another chance.

I could waste away waiting for a girl that was far too good for me. And I would willingly do so for her, just as I'd willingly do anything to save her. This concept of self-sacrifice was entirely new to me, nearly beyond my comprehension.

"Hermione," I murmured, wanting to ask her to explain this new feeling to me.

Her only answer was a heavy, contented sigh as she snuggled closer to me, burying her face deeper into my chest.

"Goodnight," I whispered with a smile as I closed my eyes.

When I woke up, she was gone. It'd all been a dream.

Two weeks later, I was sitting at my table in the back of the library attempting to write a foot-long essay on the morality of using love potions. I had thought long and hard about why they were a general threat to the public and so far I'd come up with "Don't use them…period" and a load of doodles.

I hadn't been able to concentrate on my coursework since that night, the night I'd had the most wonderful dream about a girl with big brown eyes and a wild mass of brown curls. A girl I'd wait forever for.

I heard to soft rustling of the chair beside me being pulled across the carpet and away from the table. Quickly, I stashed away the sorry-looking parchment so my invading companion wouldn't accuse me of being unfocused.

Turning to the person with every intention of telling them off, I was beyond shocked to find the girl of my dreams seated there, her focus entirely on the table in front of her.

"Not again," I breathed while, at the same time, I was reaching for her, wanting to make sure she was real.

"What," she asked, turning to me. Her brown eyes swam with confusion. I didn't want her to be confused.

"I'm dreaming again." I rested my hand on hers, letting the warmth seep through me. "And I never want to wake up."

She smiled and her fingers began to skate across my hand. "Are you still waiting, then?"

I nodded. "Forever. I'll wait forever for one moment like this."

"Need you wait for that long? Because I'd rather give you moments like this indefinitely," she whispered, her fingers twining and untwining with mine. Then she added hurriedly. "If you want an indefinite amount of moments like this, that is."

Gently, slowly, I reached up and touched her cheek, watching awe-bound as her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into my touch. "Just to touch you once—just this right here—it is enough."

"I think I'd like to give 'us' a chance, Draco," she murmured, looking at me with her soulful eyes, pulling me deeper and deeper. "Is the offer still on the table?"

I nodded. "I gave you my word as a Malfoy that I'd wait. Plus, I couldn't break such a promise if I'd wanted to. I think I'm helplessly—I am beyond a shadow of a doubt—Hermione, I _really_ like you."

A small burst of laughter came from her. "Draco, I _really_ like you, too. In fact, I like you so much that I've decided to give you that second chance. Now, what you do wit—"

I grabbed both sides of her face and crashed my lips against hers, aching for the feel of them moving with mine again.

She smiled and brought her arms up around my neck. "I think I love the library."

I smirked and kissed the corner of her mouth. "You mean you didn't before?"

"Oh, no, I was very fond of it before." Her fingers buried themselves in my hair. "It's just…magical now. It brought me you, you see."

I smiled, happier than I thought would ever be possible for me. Here she was, Hermione Granger, girl of my dreams, wrapped up in my arms and I began to think of everything that had happened to us here. "I think I love the library, too."

_AN: And, in the words of one of my friends, "they got married and had lots of babies" (AKA: they lived happily ever after—which, in my opinion, is a very good way to live). Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading this frickin' long thing. __It's definitely longer than I'd anticipated. But then when doesn't that happen to my stories. Hehe…Tell me what you think. I always love hearing input. It only makes me better. _

_Buh-bye now,_

_Lurisa_


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